by Toni Aleo
Shane swallowed back the rest of his excuse and slowly nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
He followed her into the dining room, holding his arms out as Mrs. Hunter filled them with colorfully wrapped gifts. He shifted, his gaze focused on the subdued colors of the landscapes decorating the far wall.
"I—I should probably leave after carrying these in."
Mrs. Hunter hesitated, one slim hand cradling the final package before adding it to the large pile in his arms. "Nonsense. You'll miss the gift exchange."
"I don't think anyone is going to care. I have a feeling I've already worn out my welcome."
"Really?" She tilted her head back and watched him, her hazel green eyes seeing too much. She finally shook her head and released a quiet sigh. "You've been paying too much attention to Wyatt and his glares. Don't."
"It's kind of hard not to. Not when I'm the reason for them being there in the first place. Not when I'm the reason..." His voice drifted off and he looked away, no longer able to face the woman who had been like a second mother to him.
She sighed again and placed a hand on his arm, her touch featherlight but still warm and comforting. "Shane, that was a long time ago. And it was an accident."
"Doesn't change what happened. What I did."
"No, it doesn't. But it's time to move on. To put the past in the past, where it belongs." She moved her hand and stepped back, her serious gaze still holding his. "When Chloe first told me she wanted to invite you tonight, I almost said no. Not because I didn't want you here, but because I was worried about Wyatt. I still am. But it's time you both came to terms with what happened. Time for both of you to settle this, once and for all."
"Mrs. Hunter, I don't—"
"Listen to you. Mrs. Hunter. I remember when you used to call me Mom. Or have you forgotten that?"
"No." Shane swallowed, cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, I haven't forgotten. But that was a long time ago. Things have changed."
"Then maybe it's time to change them back, don't you think?" She gave him a steely look, one he didn't understand, then led the way from the dining room, leaving him no choice but to follow.
Chloe rushed to his side, helped him arrange the gifts in the middle of the floor as Mrs. Hunter explained the rules. Not that anyone needed them explained—this game had been played for years, ever since the first Christmas party he had been invited to, that first year he had moved here to live with his aunt and uncle.
"We'll roll the dice to see who goes first. Highest roll to the lowest." Mrs. Hunter moved to an end table and rummaged through the drawer, pulling out a pair of dice. "Whoever goes first picks a present from the pile. Whoever is next can either pick a new present, or steal one that's already been opened."
Mrs. Marilyn sat up a little straighter, her mouth pursed in sudden disapproval. "Steal? That's not very nice, now is it?"
"It's just a game, Mrs. Marilyn. We're not really stealing," Chloe explained.
"Oh. I guess that's alright then."
"And remember, a gift can only be stolen three times. After the third time, it's safe." Mrs. Hunter passed the dice to her husband then stood back as he rolled them across the scarred surface of the coffee table. The white cubes were passed around the room, everyone taking their turn until Mrs. Hunter was the last one. She frowned, gave them a quick shake, then tossed them on the table.
"Does everyone remember what they rolled? Because I lost track."
Chloe retrieved the dice and held them in her hand. "Mom, why don't you just start and we can go around the room that way?"
"I guess that will work." Mrs. Hunter smiled then stepped toward the pile of gifts, studying them for a long minute before picking one. The game continued, taking longer than Shane expected because of the bantering and stealing back and forth. Then it was Wyatt's turn. He placed one hand against the arm of the chair and stood, his left leg sticking out at an awkward angle. He leaned down and adjusted the prosthesis then looked up, their gazes colliding.
The breath froze in Shane's lungs. Guilt ripped through him, followed by remorse. He wanted to look away—needed to look away. But he couldn't, any more than he could draw breath into his struggling lungs. This was his fault. All of it. There was nobody to blame but himself.
And the expression in Wyatt's eyes reassured him of that, let him know that he held Shane responsible for what had happened, what he'd become. Just as much as it let him know there would never be forgiveness.
Then Wyatt looked away, breaking the awful tension that had gripped him. The guilt was still there, though. It always was.
"Let's see what Mr. Hotshot Hockey player brought." Wyatt reached out, his hand closing over the hastily-wrapped gift. Shane wanted to lunge for the present, to rip it from Wyatt's hands before he could open it. But he was frozen, helpless to move, helpless to do anything but stare in mortification as his former friend tore the bright paper and tossed it to the floor.
Silence settled over the room as Wyatt held the hooded sweatshirt in front of him. An eagle was emblazoned across the front, its wings spread, a pair of hockey sticks crossed behind it. The words "Baltimore Banners" circled the ferocious eagle in bold red, the letters outlined in bright blue.
Wyatt's hands fisted in the heavy material. His shoulders hunched around his ears, his chest heaving with angry breaths. Nobody said anything for a long minute, not until Wyatt finally looked over and laughed. The sound was sharp, bitter, full of angry resentment.
"I guess this is the only way I'll ever wear a Banners' sweater, huh?" Wyatt's furious gaze met his for a brief second. He balled the sweatshirt in his hands and threw it on top of the remaining presents then turned, hobbling from the room with his awkward, straight-legged gait.
Chapter Four
"Wyatt!" Chloe called for her brother, his name echoing as her mother did the same. She pushed up from the sofa, motioning for her mom to stay where she was. This was Chloe's fault, she needed to be the one to take care of it. To fix it.
She hurried from the room, ignoring the stricken look on Shane's face. She couldn't do anything about that, not now. Not when she needed to make things right with her brother.
She pushed through the swinging doors leading to the large country kitchen, skidded to a halt when she saw Wyatt leaning against the granite counter. In one hand was a large glass; in the other, a bottle of bourbon. He raised one brow in her direction, silently daring her to say something as he filled the glass. He raised it toward her in a mock salute then tossed the contents down in one swallow and refilled it.
"I thought you weren't drinking anymore."
"Really? No idea why you thought that."
"Because that's what you told me."
"Imagine that. Guess I lied."
Chloe folded her arms in front of her and frowned as he tossed the contents of the second glass back. Anger went through her, followed by frustration and pity. She pushed all three emotions away, knowing she couldn't afford to let Wyatt see any of them.
Too late.
She should have known better, should have known he didn't have to see her face to know what she was thinking or feeling. They were twins, so attuned to the other, they didn't need words. At least, not until recently. Not until Wyatt had started sliding back into the deep hole it had taken him years to crawl out of.
"I don't need your pity, little sis, so just stop."
"No? Then what do you need?”
"Nothing." He tilted the bottle over the glass once more, hesitated then lowered it without pouring. "I don't need a damn thing."
Her anger melted away, replaced by concern. She took a step toward him then released the breath she'd been holding when he waved her away. "Wyatt, talk to me. Tell me what's going on."
"There's nothing going on."
"There is. I can feel it."
"Yeah?" He turned toward her, a smirk twisting his features. "Then why do you need me to answer, if you already know?"
"Because I don't know. I only know you're hurting. That
something has been bothering you for the last few months. You've changed. And I don't know why." She closed the distance between them, reached out to touch him only to have him brush her hand away. "Why won't you tell me what's going on?"
"Like I said—nothing's going on."
"Why are you lying to me?"
"Lying?"
"Yes. You used to tell me everything. We never used to keep secrets from each other. But lately—"
"Secrets?" He laughed, the sound cold and hollow. "Oh, you mean like you inviting Masters here and not telling me? Secrets like that?"
"I didn't mean..." She swallowed, blinked back the tears forming in her eyes. "I thought it might help. I thought if you two could talk, get everything out in the open—"
"Really, sis? Is that what you really thought?" He limped toward her, his mouth twisted in a scowl. "Or were you just hoping for a quick romp with your fuck buddy?"
His words slammed into her with the force of a physical blow, knocking the breath from her and making her stagger beneath their force. She opened her mouth, snapped it closed when she realized she had no idea what to say or how to respond.
She didn't need to, not when a deep voice behind her answered for her.
"Don't talk to her like that."
She spun around, surprised to see Shane standing directly behind her. He reached for her, tugged her behind his large body. Like he was protecting her. Shielding her.
From her own brother.
Chloe stepped around him, putting herself between the two men who meant the most to her: Shane and her brother. She placed a hand against Shane's chest, stopping him before he could move closer to Wyatt.
"Shane, don't—"
"What are you going to do, Masters? Beat up on the cripple?"
Shane's dark eyes narrowed and a muscle jumped in the hard jaw. His body tensed under her hand and for one frightening minute, Chloe truly thought that Shane would go after her brother. That the two of them would start wrestling on the floor, the way they had when they were younger. Only this time, it wouldn't be simple rough housing meant in fun.
The tension slowly eased from Shane's body and he stepped back, away from her brother. Away from her. He looked around the large kitchen, his gaze slowly taking everything in, as if he was searching for something. Then he turned back to Wyatt with a cold smile. "Funny, but I don't see any cripples here. The only thing I see is an asshole wallowing in self-pity and taking it out on his sister."
The roar of anger caught her by surprise, freezing her in place. She was helpless to move, helpless to do anything except watch as Wyatt hurled the empty glass across the room. It exploded when it hit the wall, a thousand tiny shards catching the light and reflecting it back in tiny rainbows as they cascaded to the tile floor.
Wyatt lunged toward Shane, pushing her out of the way as he swung out with one fist. She heard the awful impact of flesh striking flesh, heard a grunt of pain as Wyatt's fist connected with Shane's jaw. Again, over and over, each blow accompanied by a sickening thud, by a harsh growl of anger and pain.
She turned, expecting to see both men rolling on the floor in a puddle of blood. But they were both still standing and the only blood was on Shane's face, streaming from his nose as Wyatt swung and hit him. Again, and again.
And Shane just stood there. Not hitting back. Not defending himself. Not even trying to block each blow.
"Wyatt, no! Stop!" She rushed between them, trying to put an end to the one-sided fight. Shane finally shifted, another blow catching him on the side of his head when he turned to move her out of the way. His legs buckled and he staggered, would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed the counter at the last second.
Chloe screamed again, the sound filled with fright instead of anger. She rushed toward Shane, caught him around the waist and tried to support his solid weight. Voices exploded behind her. Angry. Frightened. Shocked.
Then her father was there, pushing Wyatt away, his deep voice issuing a command to stop. Her mother, demanding to know what was going on, the question ending in a sharp gasp when she saw the blood on Shane's face.
"Mom, it was Wyatt. He just—he just started swinging. He—"
"No. It was my fault." Shane pushed away from her, refusing to look at her as someone shoved a towel into his hands. He wiped his face with it, smearing more blood than he cleaned up.
Her mother swore beneath her breath and stepped forward, grabbing the towel from Shane's hand and rinsing it out in the sink. She started to clean Shane's face, brushing his hands away with a stern look before leveling that same expression at Wyatt.
"Is that true, Wyatt?"
"If Masters says it was his fault..." He let the words trail off with a careless shrug, refusing to admit what had happened. Chloe watched, narrowing her eyes at him, silently willing him to tell the truth. But Wyatt wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't look at any of them, just kept his gaze focused on his bruised knuckles.
Shane removed the wet towel from her mother's hand, swiped it across his face one last time then balled it in his fist. "It was my fault. I should have never come."
"Shane—"
He shook his head, cutting her off with an expression she couldn't read. That didn't stop her stomach from twisting, didn't stop a deep sorrow from washing over her.
He turned to her mom, tried to hand the towel back. "I'm sorry—"
"Keep it. You'll need it on the drive home." She sent a withering glance in Wyatt's direction then patted Shane on the arm. "Liz can teach you how to remove the blood stains before you bring it back. And that's one of my favorite towels so I do expect it back."
Shane looked like he wanted to argue, like he was simply going to drop the towel in the sink and walk away. But he must have seen something in her mother's eyes as they stared at each other because he finally nodded. He frowned at Wyatt then looked at her, their gazes meeting for the briefest second. Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word.
Chloe took a step forward then stopped. She couldn't follow him, not when she knew he didn't want her to. Not when she knew it would only make things worse.
Not even when she knew, without a doubt, that Shane had no intention of bringing the towel back. That he had no intention of coming back at all.
Chapter Five
The house was dark. Quiet, with the kind of silence that comforted, the kind that let you know things were just as they should be.
The subtle rumble of the furnace.
The soft hiss of heated air coming through the vents.
The muted ticking of the old grandfather clock upstairs in his uncle's den.
Quiet. Too fucking quiet. And the belief that everything was as it should be was nothing more than a fucking joke.
Ice clinked against crystal as Shane raised the glass to his mouth and took a sip of the scotch. Smooth. Mellow. Leaving a slight burn in the back of his throat as he swallowed.
Part of him figured there was something wrong with the fact that he couldn't taste a damn thing as the expensive scotch went down. Another part of him didn't give a shit.
How long had he been sitting down here in the dark, drinking scotch he couldn't taste and wondering why the hell he'd even come home? Too long. Not long enough.
The lights of the small living area of the basement were off, cloaking him in the darkness he craved. But it wasn't dark enough. Nowhere near as dark as that hole in his soul, the one that kept growing, threatening to swallow him up. It couldn't happen fast enough, as far as he was concerned. And it was nothing less than what he deserved for the sins he'd committed all those years ago.
Maybe it would happen tonight. Maybe that hole would finally explode and take him with it, leaving nothing more than dust in his place. His aunt would come down in the morning, searching the basement that he'd had converted into a small apartment, and find nothing more than a few specks of dust.
Would anyone miss him? Aunt Liz and Uncle Charles, yes. Any of the guys on the team? Maybe. Hunter Billings. Jaxon
Miller. Logan Simms. But hell, they'd get over it.
The Hunters? Fuck, no. Not Mr. and Mrs. Hunter. Definitely not Wyatt.
Chloe?
Maybe.
Or maybe she was completely over him now. She should be. It had been five years. He wasn't worth the heartache. It didn't matter that he still thought about her. Didn't matter that she was his biggest regret.
Shane drained the last of the scotch then frowned. No, Wyatt was his biggest regret.
But Chloe was a close second.
A beam of light cut through the small window above the sofa, illuminating a slice of the basement living area before disappearing. Darkness surrounded him once more but he was already leaning forward, his nerves taut, his head cocked to the side as he listened.
The faint purr of an engine, abruptly dying. The sound of a car door closing.
Silence.
Then, so faint he barely heard it, a soft knock at the front door.
Chloe.
He didn't have to look to know who it was. He could sense her. Feel her.
Shane closed his eyes and sighed. Would she go away if he didn't answer the door? Or would she knock harder and risk waking up his aunt and uncle? Knowing Chloe, she'd keep knocking. And what did that say about him, that he already knew what she'd do without thinking about it?
It said he was a fool. An even bigger fool than he'd first thought.
He pushed off the sofa and made his way up the short flight of stairs, his bare feet silent against the thick carpeting. He didn't bother turning on any lights, just undid the lock and opened the door. He leaned his shoulder against the door frame, not saying a word as Chloe stared up at him.